Another time, but the same place. England last beat Australia here 75 years ago in the second Test of the 1934 series. Since then there have been 18 Tests between the two teams at Lord's: nine draws and nine victories for Australia.

Another time, unrecognisable in the age of switch-hits, huddles, the right areas, Twitter and vacuous celebrity pursued by a relentless press. Or was it? Listen to Sydney Southerton, editor of the 1935 Wisden: "It is next to impossible to regard the cricket season of 1934 as other than unpleasant. I deplored the attitude of a certain section of the press in what seemed to me an insane desire to stir up strife. We constantly read not so much how the game was going but rather tittle-tattle of a mischievous character, which in the long run prompted the inevitable question: are Test matches really worthwhile?" If Don Bradman had possessed a mobile phone in 1934 perhaps it would have been bugged.

There were notable English absentees during that series, which weakened the home side. Douglas Jardine was enlisted to write about the game for a national newspaper rather than play against the Australians. No doubt he did so with Athertonian authority. Harold Larwood was not picked. "The attitude of Larwood on a certain matter precluded the selectors from choosing him," writes Southerton prissily (that "certain matter" being Bodyline). He reckons that this pair's absence might have turned the scales in Australia's favour. The tourists won the series 2–1 to regain the Ashes.

However, England did win at Lord's for the first time since 1896 – even in 1934 there was a jinx. Bill Brown was a 21-year-old Australian opener, wide-eyed at the game's headquarters in 1934 and two years before he died at the age of 95 he gave an inkling why touring teams always seem to raise their game there.

"The place was redolent of history and I felt part of it. WG Grace had walked these same steps. I'd arrived. And I remember thinking how smooth and soft the grounds were compared with back home ... I remember dropping a catch. There would have been shouts of abuse back in Australia but all I heard was a cry of 'hard luck, young Brown', which I thought was nice."

Brown scored a century in response to England's 440 (as in the current match, England won the toss and chose to bat) and the tourists were well placed at 192 for two at the close of play on the second day. Then it rained. And when it rained in 1934 the match turned somersaults. Pitches were uncovered and England had the man to exploit a drying surface in the Yorkshireman, Hedley Verity.

Verity, who died as a prisoner of war in Italy in 1943, was a tall, classical left-arm spinner. Some of the purists complained that he bowled too quickly and that he should indulge more in the fancies of flight (does that ring a bell, Monty?) But his pace and accuracy made him lethal on a drying pitch. On the Monday of the Test he took 14 wickets for 80 runs as Australia followed on (he had already taken one wicket before the rain on the Saturday).

The Guardian's unnamed correspondent was there in full flow: "He bowled no more than three loose balls while the Australian first innings died the death. Darling played two or three balls from Verity with a bat as distrustful as the hand of a man in a carburettor. Saturday's hunting ground was now a place of much evil, with snakes in the grass."

Of course the key wicket was always Bradman's throughout that decade and our correspondent (was it Cardus?) describes the second innings of Australia's champion.

"Bradman came now, and the Australian enclosure [did they really need an enclosure in those days?] cried out 'Coo-ee'. Sad, vain noises of encouragement and hope! He played his first ball to leg for two. He smote a 'bumper' from Bowes savagely. He sent a good-length ball from Verity towering towards long-on, a stroke which announced a lost cause and need for desperate measures.

"Woodfull all the time defended like a weary Titan bound to the rock. Sadly he saw the downfall of Bradman, who as though suddenly goaded by Verity's persistent length, slashed madly clean across the spin and sent up a hideous skier over the wicket. Ames's gloves received the ball with a thud, a sickening thud it must have sounded in Bradman's ears. He departed a sad cricketer."

Now a picture comes to mind of Bradman being led into the press conference at the close of play by Australia's media liaison officer, and declaring to the gathered scribes with a shrug: "That's the way I play."